– photograph, Kevin Carte, 1993 — Because I have never found a story that I can whisper from narthex to altar, I have forgotten
Not Sunday but the bell on the cat’s collar seems a benediction as the cat rolls in the dust, feathers its black coat with
Feasted on discarded gooseberries, two young raccoons fled like seabirds up the thorned blacklocust branches. A half-moon sunrise over a carcass with horns and